Sherlock's Concealed Pain
by WritingFicsIn221b
Summary: John returns to 221b for a quick visit, only to find something unexpected...


Setting: A short while after 'The Empty Hearse'. It was a rainy, saturday night when the door to 221b was unlocked and John clicked the door open and stepped inside, pulling his jacket down from over his head, to be greeted by a frightened looking Mrs. Hudson. She sighed in relief, resting her palm over her heart and smiling "Oh, John! You scared me!" Said Mrs. Hudson before stepping forward to give John a light hug. John hugged her back with an awkward smile "Oh, right. I'm sorry. I forgot...I don't really have the right to use this key anymore, do I?" Mrs. Hudson stepped back "Oh, of course you do." she said, giving him a light slap on the arm. John smiled back and looked up the stairs leading to his old apartment "Sherlock in?" "I think so. Go up." She beamed him a final smile and went back through the door leading to her apartment. After a moment of hesitation, John made his way up the staircase. Brushing his hand over the old banister, he smiled at the familiarity of a single stair letting out a whiney creek in the middle of the staircase. Entering the apartment, John peered around the room. Completely normal. Nothing had changed, apart from his chair, which was still missing. Sherlock was no where to be seen, and John shuffled around awkwardly, brushing his fingers over objects around the room, that gave him a sense of home.. The skull on the fireplace, Sherlock's laptop, and the wallpaper (which had new holes blasted into it, Sherlock must have been bored). The room was dark, no lamps on, and the rain outside was beating against the windows mercilessly. Suddenly, John heard a low moan come from Sherlock's bedroom. He swirled around to face the door to the bedroom, and he cautiously stepped towards it. The door was ajar, and silently, John put his open palm against it and pushed it open. He knew Sherlock slept naked, so was cautious as he peered around the doorframe. He found Sherlock laying in his bed, scowling faintly with his eyes closed. A white sheet lay over him up to his lower stomach, and his chest was bare and his long arms were sprawled out over his bed. John smiled faintly, this was one of those rare occasions that he saw Sherlock asleep. He looked so innocent and calm, except for the frown which seemed tattooed on his expression, other than that, he looked so un-Sherlock like. John looked around the room, and noticed his arm chair, tucked in the corner of the room. He scowled in confusion, but didn't hesitate before moving silently to his chair and sinking into it. He closed his eyes and breathed in the familiar scent. The room was silent, and warmth hung over it, until Sherlock groaned, as if in pain, and stirred in the sheets, turning his arms over. He muttered something under his breath and clenched his fists. John opened his eyes and looked at Sherlock, jumping up "Oh, Sher-" He paused, realising Sherlock was still asleep, he was dreaming. Standing up and moving over to Sherlock, he went to sit on the edge of the bed, but stopped suddenly when he noticed dark, slit marks all up his arm. John staggered back, and his eyes widened in horror. "Oh, god…" He whispered. After a moment of staring at the marks on his right arm, John lurched forward and perched on the edge of Sherlock's bed. The room was illuminated with the silver moonlight, and John could see the ripped skin around the cuts that made his skin crawl. Cautiously, John reached out and very gently, brushed his fingertips over the cuts. He shuddered as he touched them, and nearly collapsed as he felt Sherlock's torn skin. He took a breath, but ended up choking on it. His emotions seemed to be reflected outside, as a dark cloud brushed past the window, making the room almost black. Suddenly, Sherlock's piercing blue eyes flickered open and too John, who was almost crying. "Sherlock…" John choked as Sherlock peered down at his arm. Slowly, he sat up as his eyes became slightly glossed with small tears. As soon as he sat up, Sherlock collapsed into John's lap, which was when John saw the scars and bruises that plastered Sherlock's muscular back. Sherlock was crying. Actually crying infront of John, gripping his frame tightly "I missed you too much, John. I couldn't stand it." He exclaimed in a powerful voice. John didn't hesitate as he leaned over Sherlock's buckled body, crying. "Oh, christ, Sherlock." He whispered as they sat there in the dark, comforting each other. 


End file.
